The Unexpected Visitor
by Samantha Spanner
Summary: When Mrs. Hudson spots a mouse in 221b, her first reaction is to get rid of it. But, when Toby protests strongly and protects the creature, Sherlock interviens in his landlady's planning. Rated for character injury.
1. The Visitor

**Author's notes:  
>This is my second venture into the Holmesian and Basilian fandoms, and I do hope that I have done well.<strong>

**This is the result of a family New Year's Eve challenge- "Whoever writes the longest and best fiction in the day wins."  
>At a total of 2,544 words, mine won.<strong>

**Now, a bit of a warning. No characters are given long-term harm during this fanfic, no matter what Mrs. Hudson says, so you needn't fear for Basil.**

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><p>Mrs. Hudson cautiously swept a bit of dirt out the door of 221b, not daring to wonder what sort of odd substance might be included in the particles. It was a rare occurrence that her tenant, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, allowed her to tidy things up a bit in the flat, let alone actually clean anything. However, after his latest case, she had insisted that he at least let her sweep an unsightly mound of dust and heaven-knows-what-else out of the foyer.<p>

It wasn't a wonder that her other tenants came and went like a summer breeze. With the near-constant comings and goings, violin playing at hours that would only be pleasant for an owl or bat, and often odorous chemical experiments in 221b, Mrs. Hudson herself probably wouldn't wish to reside in the neighboring flat.

Truth be told, however, she'd gotten rather used to things, and Holmes's actions rarely surprised her.

It was then that she glanced around the wall of the foyer and into the main interior of the flat, and nearly dropped her broom.

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><p>Holmes snapped upright at the sound of a quiet shriek and a bark from the main room. The bark had, obviously, been Toby, and the shriek was the familiar, distressed sound of Mrs. Hudson, but, this time, Holmes had done nothing within his knowledge that could have caused that reaction.<p>

He stood quickly, dropping the letter he'd been decoding, and swiftly strode to the doorway.

There, in the center of the room, was Mrs. Hudson, who was defensively holding her broom out in front of her like a wooden sword. On the other side of the room, Toby was standing by the footstool, staring defiantly at Mrs. Hudson with one lip slightly raised.

"Mrs. Hudson..." Holmes inquired slowly, wondering what exactly she'd done to upset the hound. "What, may I ask, is going on here?"

Mrs. Hudson turned to the detective in the doorway, her expression a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. Mostly annoyance. "Mr. Holmes," she replied, still wielding her broom in the same direction. "You have a mouse in your flat."

Holmes blinked. "A... Mouse?" he replied flatly.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes! A mouse." Mrs. Hudson insisted, motioning with the broom.

Toby growled audibly, and looked like he'd have liked ripping the said cleaning tool to shreds.

Holmes looked at the hound with a raised eyebrow, puzzled by his reaction. There was, indeed, the still form of a mouse of the floor by the footstool- apparently, it had at first been closer to the landlady's weapon- but Toby seemed to be standing over it defensively.

"Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson started, calling her tenant's attention back to her. "Please, call away your dog so that I can remove... It."

Toby reacted again, this time with an angry sounding bark, followed by a low growl.

"Toby." Holmes said abruptly in a scolding tone, causing the dog to quiet. He then turned to Mrs. Hudson. "Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson, I will take care of it."

Mrs. Hudson hesitated. "Why is it that I feel the need to question your definition of 'take care of'?"

Holmes shook his head. "Now, now, whatever would I want with a mouse?" he answered in a mildly amused tone as he guided the landlady to the door.

_Knowing you, I wouldn't be surprised if you thought of something... _Mrs. Hudson thought, but hesitantly stuttered "I... I suppose that you have a point, Mr. Holmes..." instead. Before she went through the door, however, she made one point very clear. "I don't mind your experiments and frequent visits, Mr. Holmes," she stated firmly. "but I simply draw the line at keeping a dead mouse, or dead anything else, whatever the reason my be."

Holmes, truth be told, had a hard time keeping a straight face as Mrs. Hudson said this. "Your line shall be well minded." he replied, all but shooing her out the door. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson."

Holmes shut the door after Mrs. Hudson exited, but was surprised by the sound he heard as the latch clicked- Toby whimpering. Turning toward the sound, he saw the faithful hound gently nudging the mouse with his nose, an urgent whimper escaping his throat. Whatever had gotten into him?

The detective walked over to the rodent and canine, a look of curious confusion on his face. As he drew nearer, he was met by a sudden growl from Toby.

"Toby!" he verbally scolded again, not having expected the dog to react in such a way to him as well. "Whatever is the matter?"

Toby whimpered, looking up at his human with his sad, brown eyes.

Holmes reached down, petting the dog with one hand while cautiously reaching for the mouse with the other.

Toby was clearly angered by this, as he snarled sharply and returned to his defensive posture over the rodent.

Holmes pulled his hand back at the hound's sudden outburst. "Toby, what...?" he paused mid-sentence, hardly daring to believe what he'd just noticed.

He took a second glance at the mouse, confirming the minute detail that he'd noticed but a moment before. The mouse was clothed.

The color of the cloth closely matched the mouse's fur, but, at close range, one could clearly make out the tan, Inverness cape, similar to one that Holmes himself sometimes wore.

"Back, Toby..." Sherlock ordered, gently but firmly pushing the hound away with one hand. "Sit... Stay."

Holmes stared at the mouse in amazement before slowly reaching toward it and carefully picking it up.

Toby grumbled a muffled growl.

"Toby..." Holmes warned, not taking his eyes off of the mouse in the palm of his hand as he stood up. "Stay."

Sherlock could feel the small heartbeat of the warm, furry creature that he held. Mrs. Hudson had been far from right, the mouse was unconscious, but very much alive.

Holmes slowly sat down in his usual spot, still not looking away from the mouse. From his closer view, he could see as much detail as he could see of a human standing in the doorway. The green tie, the small, black shoes, the rounded bulge in the pocket of it's jacket... He mentally took note of each and every thing he noticed.

Oddly, he thought that he recognized the shape of the object in the mouse's pocket. If he didn't know better, his first thought would have been that the thing was a magnifying glass.

What he didn't know was, he was right.

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><p><strong>Did I mention that this is also my first multi-chapter fic? (WOOO!)<strong>

**I've actually been in a simmaler situation, having to rescue a mouse, so I know what it's like to hold one. (Although, with me, it was fully consious and wouldn't leave the toe of my boot when I set it down.)**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and Basil of Baker Street do not belong to me.**


	2. The Rescuer

**Author's Note:  
>You may notice a point of view change in this chapter.<br>****Hooray for Basil PoV!**

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><p>Basil slowly blinked his eyes open, and let a moan escape him when a sharp pain in his side made itself known.<p>

He thought back to what he'd been doing last. He was with Toby, they were just about to head out when... A human had shown up? He blinked again, still a bit dizzy. He now remembered that the human- probably the landlady, Mrs. Hudson- had swung a broom at him, effectively scooping him up and knocking him into the footstool.

Basil visibly shuddered. He had been lucky, if that broom had been an inch closer...

He suddenly felt the rapid rushing of air back and forth across his fur, and looked up to see the big, wet nose of Toby.

"Yes, yes... I'm alright, Toby." Basil mumbled almost inaudibly, reaching out and patting the hound thankfully. He knew that Toby must have intervened in some way. After all, no human would notice a mouse, attack it, then walk away and leave it alone.

Toby yipped happily and licked Basil, much to his dismay.

Recovering from the wet, slobbery lick, Basil stumbled to his feet, wiping off as much of the saliva as he could. How dogs thought this action was a sign of affection, Basil never quite understood.

Basil took a step toward the hound, but the pain in his side screamed at him again, causing him to stumble and fall forward. Obviously, walking probably wasn't a good idea yet.

He started to push himself up again, then froze, noticing exactly what he was standing on.

It was, clearly, a hand.

Basil slowly stood and turned around, finding himself staring into the face of a human, who was staring back at him with piercing, grey eyes. Basil's breath caught in his throat when he realized who it was.

The human wasn't just any human, he was _THE_ human. The human that Basil had watched, admired, and learned from for years. He was the master himself, the greatest mind in London, possibly the greatest detective of all time, _Sherlock Holmes. _

Basil didn't know what to do, and, quite frankly, neither did Sherlock. They both stayed where they were, staring at each other- Basil's expression awestruck, Holmes's curious.

Basil had never expected to ever actually be this close to his unknowing mentor, he'd always stayed out of sight, under furniture or inside the wall, and thought he always would be. What was he supposed to do when he was, quite literally, in the palm of his hand?

The mouse detective could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he considered what he should do. Would Holmes be able to understand him if he tried to speak? Should he try? Would it be better to simply remain still?

As Basil was deliberating, Holmes did what any curious human might do in the situation. Slowly, as not to frighten it, he moved his other hand over in front of the mouse, in hopes that he might react in some way.

Basil hesitated, looking at Sherlock's hand. What did he want him to do? Gathering up his courage, he cautiously held out a paw, as if he were about to greet another mouse.

Sherlock's eyes widened. He had clearly expected the mouse to sniff his hand, if even that, not perform such a human gesture. After a moment's pause, the human detective reached out and lightly touched Basil's outstretched paw.

Basil suddenly couldn't keep a smile off of his face. Here he was, shaking hands with the very man who had inspired him so.

Holmes suddenly glanced at the door, alerting Basil to the sound of footsteps he hadn't noticed. They both recognized the sound, as they had both heard it multiple times. Dr. John Watson, returning from his practice, most likely.

Basil looked up at Holmes, who seemed to be considering something.

Sherlock looked back at the mouse and stood up, taking care to keep his hand level. He then walked to the wall, to the very spot where Basil had first entered, and crouched down to set the mouse by the hole.

Basil was startled when the detective spoke to him.

"You might best be going," he said quietly, looking as if he couldn't believe what he was doing. "I am quite sure that Watson wouldn't react well to me carrying you around..."

Basil simply nodded, then watched as Holmes stood and walked to the door.

He greeted Watson, acting as if everything was normal but, as Basil silently stepped through the hole, the eyes of the two detectives met one more time before the mouse disappeared into the passage.

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><p>Dr. Dawson looked up from his newspaper as the back door slowly opened. "There you are, Basil. Where were you?"<p>

Basil remained silent as he turned and closed the door, leaning against it for a moment with a still awed expression.

"Basil?"

Basil turned and looked at his friend and fellow investigator, the sparkle in his eyes almost foreign. "Dawson, you wouldn't believe who I just met..."

Dawson sat his paper on the table, cocking his head in curiosity. "Who?"

Basil pointed up, a small smile playing about his lips. He knew from Dawson's face that he didn't need to say a word.

"Goodness, do you mean that he saw you?" Dawson inquired.

Basil nodded, tossing his coat onto the nearest object. "Much more than that, Dawson..." He replied, glancing absently at his paw.

"Are you alright?" Dawson asked, noticing for the first time that the detective seemed rather disheveled and somewhat distracted.

"Of course, I'm fine." Basil replied calmly, but soon countered his words when he involuntarily winced as he took a step.

It was as if Dawson was instantly at his side. "You're hurt." he corrected, a worried glint in his eye. "What happened?"

Basil tried to stay casual. "I just... had an encounter with his landlady. It's nothing, really."

Dawson frowned as Basil tried to ignore his apparent injury. "Come now, Basil, let's have a look at that."

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><p><strong>One more, short, ending chapter to come.<strong>

**Yes, I know that Basil doesn't talk much in this, but, really, can you blame him?**

**Also, you _can_ go "Oh my goodness! He actually touched _this_ hand!" Without going totally fangirl/guy. I mean, I shook hands with a favorite authoress once and got all excited, but not all "Ohmigosh I love you!".  
>In other words. Yes, Basil looked at his paw, but that doesn't mean he's "I'm never washing this again!" excited.<strong>

**Disclaimer: I don't own GMD or Sherlock Holmes.**


	3. The Letter

**Author's Note:  
>Here we are at the end of the fic, y'all. I just have one more little surprise planned.<strong>

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><p>The next morning, Basil found himself under the care of Dr. Dawson, with strict orders to avoid any excessive movement. His examination had concluded that, thankfully, nothing was broken, but that resting would be essential for a swift recovery.<p>

Basil sat in his red chair, bowing away at his violin and staring blankly at the ceiling. He was fine with the diagnosis, but far from pleased with the treatment. Much like his human mentor, he became exceedingly bored when faced with any type of inactivity, and not being allowed to go on any investigations made it worse.

The tune he played was low, slow, and unrecognizable, and Dawson noted that, even though Basil had been playing it for the last four hours, he still managed to vary the chords enough to keep it from being repetitive.

Basil paused in his playing, his ears perking up as there was a knock on the door.

"I'll answer it, Basil." Dawson insisted before Basil had a chance to sprint across the room. "You just stay there."

Basil sank back into the chair's cushion with an annoyed sigh as he resumed his playing.

Dawson shook his head as he headed for the door, there had to be some way of keeping Basil occupied.

Turning and opening the door, Dawson was surprised to see a large roll of paper on the front step. He looked at the paper, then down the street. There was no one in sight in either direction, but the paper was labeled with a rough sketch that appeared to be of Basil.

"Um, Basil?" Dawson said as he started to work the paper through the door.

"Mmm?" Basil replied absently, still scraping away at the instrument.

Dawson managed to squeeze the paper through the door, then rolled it in Basil's direction. "I believe this is for you."

Basil glanced over, uninterested until he saw the paper. "Where did that come from?" he asked, taking hold of an edge once it rolled within reach.

Dawson shook his head. "I don't know, their wasn't another mouse in sight."

Basil unrolled the paper, effectively forming a tent over the chair as he read. After a moment, his mouth fell open. "That's because it's not from a mouse, Dawson."

Dawson raised an eyebrow as Basil untangled himself from the paper and rolled it his way. Picking it up, he began reading the rather large text, and soon found, much to his surprise, what Basil meant.

The letter contained a simple wish for the well-fair of the mouse detective, followed by a brief apology for what happened, and vague mention of hoping that, if the writer met Basil again, it would be under calmer circumstances.

The signature was simple and unembellished, just what one would expect from the signer: Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

_**Fin**_

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><p><strong>Aww... Holmes cares! *Warm happy feeling*<strong>

**I, admittably, got a bit of WB at the end there... I was orrigionally going to write out the letter, but I just couldn't get it to sound right.**

**I hope you enjoyed this. Reviews and constructive critique are appreciated.**


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